The Mortal Touch

by Naomi Clark

  The sun was dancing over the horizon by the time I was done, and I was dripping with sweat, covered in bloody water, stinking of dead things, and thoroughly ready to burn something. Maybe everything. The sunlight bathed the mess in a gentle glow that exaggerated the horror of the scene. A human body, reduced to a pile of wet, rotting pieces. Bones glistening through blood and muscle. The bloated torso looked like some gargantuan slug.

  I was numb to the core, my muscles screaming, and I couldn’t dredge up any feelings about the scene. I still needed to get rid of the dismembered corpse and I wasn’t sure starting a fire in my backyard at seven in the morning was a bright idea. But Harmony was right – it was best to burn in. It would just have to wait a little while.

  “How about a barbecue later?” I asked Elijah while I grimly stuffed body parts into trash bags.

  He spat another pistachio shell at me, which I took as a no.

  I stowed the bags in my shed and hoped I could find a chance to torch them later. Then I showered, intending to get straight back out to Elmo’s homeless shelter. What happened instead was that I sat down on my bed to braid my wet hair, and promptly passed out.

  I woke up close to noon and my immediate thought was that I’d forgotten to get my stiletto back, again. My next thought was that I was supposed to be going to Bea and Hayden’s for lunch. I leapt off the bed with a curse. It was a slither of normality that I really wanted right now, and I was determined to keep the date.

  I threw on some clean clothes, shoved my hair into the messiest of messy buns, and propped open the bedroom window for Elijah. Five minutes later I was cycling as fast as I could to Bea’s apartment.

  Bea and Hayden lived in a third-floor apartment on Laurence Square, a newer part of the city that lacked a lot of the seaside charm Ridderport was known for, but made it up for it with affordability. No sea views for Bea, but she had easy access to the hospital for work and the kitchen of her dreams.

  When she opened the front door to me, the enticing scents of caramelized onions and cooking meat hit me. I was sweaty from the bike ride and running up the stairs, still pretty exhausted by last night’s dramas, and the smells were like an elixir, perking me up like magic.

  “Cuban sandwiches?” I asked hopefully as Bea hugged me.

  “Cuban sandwiches. Jesus, Georgia, did you swim here?” She tugged at my tank top, which admittedly was damp.

  “It’s been...a morning,” I said.

  She clicked her tongue at me and ushered me inside. The apartment was cool and colorful, with bright art on the walls and jewel-toned pillows and throws everywhere. Summery music played from the kitchen area, and there was a bottle of white wine and three glasses on the coffee table in the lounge area. I got the same feeling I did every time I came here – that Bea’s home was a place to relax and have fun, or else.

  Luckily it was easy to relax with Bea and Hayden. I felt my stress melting away as Bea sat me down and poured me a glass of wine, chattering about the Cuban sandwiches. Over in the kitchen, Hayden was at the oven, cooking off onions and pork. A mountain of chopped tomatoes and lettuce sat in bowls by the sink, and bottles of mayonnaise and mustard were lined up ready for use. My mouth watered.

  Hayden was a statuesque, strawberry blonde who was constantly in motion. Even while she was at the oven, stirring and prodding the food, she danced on the spot, swaying to the rhythm of the music. I don’t know how she ever sat still long enough to write an article.

  “It’s been a week,” Bea said with a sigh as she fell onto the sofa beside me. “Work has been weird, and this is my first chance to relax and be normal all week.”

  “I really hope you didn’t invite me over because you wanted normal,” I said, only half-joking.

  This little oasis of music and cheer was so far removed from the darkness and blood of my last few days, it almost didn’t feel real. I wasn’t sure what I could contribute here, but that had always been a little bit true of my relationship with Bea. She was pure sunshine and I was so much shadow.

  Bea waved her hand, dismissing my comment. “I invited you over because Hayden and I need to settle a debate. Salami in Cuban sandwiches – yes or no?”

  “It’s a Tampa thing,” Hayden called. A transplant from Florida, it was clear which side of the debate she’d come down on. “A 1934 travel article about Cuban sandwiches said they should consist of ham, pork, Swiss cheese, salami, dill pickles, and mustard. It’s totally allowed.”

  Bea pouted at me. I raised my hands. “I can’t argue with history, Bea.”

  “Your invitation is rescinded,” she said, reaching playfully for my wine glass.

  I dodged her, taking a long gulp. The wine was perfectly chilled, and just the right side of sweet for me. “What’s weird at work?” I asked her.

  I’d heard Bea describe her job as everything from hellish to life-affirming, but I don’t think she’d ever called it weird before.

  She twirled her wine glass carefully and shrugged. “Just a string of weird cases in ER. A couple of kids with all the symptoms of blood poisoning, but no cause that we can find. These two, they were in advanced stages, okay? Red spots on the skin, shock. Organ failure looked real likely. We got them on oxygen, treated aggressively, and they both recovered with zero issues.”

  “But that’s good, right?” I asked.

  “It’s good, but it’s not normal. Septic shock has a fifty percent mortality rate. For both kids to be in such a serious state and recover so fast, even with the kind of aggressive treatment we gave them, it’s weird. And there’s no explanation. No kidney infection, no open wounds, nothing. It doesn’t make sense.”

  Hayden swept over, carrying two plates loaded with sandwiches. “But surely the important thing is that you saved them,” she said, taking the bean bag chair opposite the sofa. “Whatever the cause was, it probably got overlooked in the rush to treat them.”

  “Maybe.” Bea didn’t look convinced, though.

  “These kids came in together?” I asked. “They didn’t have any clue what could have caused it?”

  She shook her head. “One three nights ago, one last night. They both swore they couldn’t think of anything that explained it.”

  “That is weird,” I agreed, reaching for a sandwich. “But Hayden’s right – the important thing is that they’re okay now.”

  That ended the conversation, as Bea and Hayden started a lively debate on the best kind of mustard for Cuban sandwiches, and I chipped in half-heartedly, my brain elsewhere.

  The timelines for the poisoned kids didn’t line up with the vampire deaths, but that didn’t necessarily matter as it could take a while for someone to seek treatment for blood poisoning symptoms – they were easily confused for other things.

  Something I’d learned about vampires and humans over the years – even when humans don’t even know they exist, their lives are still knotted together with the vampires’ lives. It was a delicate ecosystem, easily upset and unbalanced, and thankfully most humans had no clue they were part of it. But they were, and if something weird was going on with vampires, eventually it would trickle down to their prey on some scale.

  Four dead vampires. Two humans with mystery blood poisoning. Experience and gut instinct told me I might have stumbled onto something.

  TWO HOURS LATER I WAS waiting outside Ridderport General Hospital, tapping my foot against the wall while I waited for Ezra to show up. I needed those kids’ names and I needed to know where they’d been. A wild goose chase? Maybe, but I was willing to try. It wasn’t just about getting Mr. Cold off my back. The next kid might not go to hospital, not in time to get treatment. They might die.

  I hadn’t just hunted vampires because I hated my father. I’d done it because I wanted to save lives, to prevent anyone going through what I did, or my mother did. I’d been so shiny and young and altruistic when I started out. I’d gotten bitter and jaded over the years, and yes, I’d desperately wanted out of the life, but I’d never forgotten why I started.
/>   When vampires came to town, people died. Always. My job had always been to stop that.

  Maybe it wasn’t the vampires’ fault this time, but that didn’t matter. My job was the same.

  Ezra showed up looking like shit, which I really shouldn’t judge him for. His hair was unwashed and uncombed, his face lightly stubbled. The black bags under his eyes made me feel tired all over again, and his clothes were creased and stained.

  “Rough night?” I asked, trying to be sympathetic. I wanted his help, after all.

  “They’re all rough,” he said. “What’s this about?”

  “I need some information on a couple of patients who were in the ER this past week. I figured you might be able to help.”

  “Yeah? By doing what? Laying on the charm?” He raked his hand through his hair and gave me what I assumed was meant to be a seductive smile.

  “You’re a telepath, aren’t you? Can’t you control people with it?”

  His expression faded into one of disgust. “And you’d be okay with that?”

  “You had no qualms about reading my mind when we met,” I reminded him impatiently. “At least this is for the greater good.”

  He fidgeted, shifting his weight around and staring past me, through the glass doors and into the busy lobby. “It doesn’t really work like that for me.”

  “Well, how does it work?”

  “I pick up thoughts. Surface stuff, all the little thought bubbles that pop into people’s heads, all the time. But I can’t do anything with those thoughts.”

  He looked strained, and I wondered how bad it must be, to be constantly bombarded by the brain waves of the people around you. The mundane, the urgent, the silly, the tragic, all pelting his skull, twenty-four seven.

  “That sounds horrible,” I said after a moment of awkward silence.

  “It’s not ideal,” he agreed. “So can I go now you know I’m useless?”

  “You’re not useless,” I said, wracking my brain for a way to make this work. I really wanted to speak to these kids.

  “Tell my sister that. Watch her opinion of your intelligence sink.”

  “I’m not interested in your sister’s opinion of me.” I turned to peer through the doors.

  The ER was off to the right, and a steady stream of people filed that way, both hospital staff and regular people. I didn’t doubt that Ezra and I could walk straight in without drawing attention. But getting access to hospital records without a friend on the inside was close to impossible – I’d only needed to outrun one set of hospital security guards to learn that. And if Ezra didn’t have the ability to manipulate people telepathically, we couldn’t just walk up to the nearest nurse and ask to see the files

  I pondered asking Bea, but decided against it immediately. I didn’t want to drag her into anything, and I didn’t want to answer difficult questions with complicated lies. But maybe there was another option.

  I turned back to Ezra. “Have you ever wanted to be a journalist?” I asked.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Attitude is everything. With the right attitude, you can bully or charm most people into anything. Elijah had always been the charming one out of the two of us, but it was clear I was going to have to step into that role today. Ezra had no interest in being charming.

  I slid into to the queue for the ER reception, all sunny smiles, and waited patiently for the receptionist to call us over. Ezra skulked behind me, clearly pained by the whole experience, but he had agreed to go along with it. All he really needed to do was not contradict anything I said, and hopefully pluck any useful thoughts from the heads around him.

  “Can I help?” the girl behind the desk asked me.

  I turned up the wattage on my smile. “Hi. Beth Gregory and Ken Li, from the Ridderport Press? We wanted to talk to someone about the blood poisoning cases this past week?”

  “The...oh, those two kids?” The girl looked hesitant. “I wasn’t on duty, but I can probably find someone...but it’s not really a good time for an interview.” She gestured at the packed waiting room and gave me a weak smile.

  I nodded sympathetically. “I totally get it. Maybe if you just point the doctor or nurse out to us, we can leave them a business card?”

  She floundered for a second, clearly wanting to ask me to just leave a card with her. I kept my ridiculous smile in place, crossing my fingers behind my back. If we could talk directly to someone who’d treated the kids, Ezra might pick something useful up.

  “Well...Oh! Dr. Marino!” The girl rose from her seat, waving her hand at someone behind us.

  A harried-looking older man with a wild, silvery beard trotted over. “I’m really busy, Marie.”

  “I know, this’ll just take a minute.” She pointed at me, smiling encouragingly.

  Dr. Marino sighed dramatically and gestured for me to talk.

  “Beth Gregory, Ridderport Press. You treated two kids for blood poisoning this past week? We were hoping to talk to you and them about the case. We understand it’s something of a medical mystery.” I talked fast, hoping to railroad him into answering without thinking about it too hard.

  He blinked and scratched his beard. “Kids...Oh, Suarez...damn, who was the other? It was interesting, but hardly newsworthy, not compared to the miracles our team works every day. Was it Shelton? Simmons? Sophie Simmons? I can’t remember.” He shook his head. “I need to move on. Maybe leave your phone number with Maria.”

  He walked off before I could say anything else. I swallowed my annoyance and glanced at Ezra hopefully. To my surprise and delight, he gave me a short nod.

  “Okay,” I said. Figuring I may as well finish the charade, I scribbled my cell number down for Marie-not-Maria and thanked her. Since she’d had the okay from Dr. Marino, sort of, I hoped she might look the patients up for us.

  “That was a waste of time,” Ezra said as we left the hospital.

  “Was it? I figured you got something from Marino?”

  “Yeah, but it was messy. He doesn’t remember people’s names. We’ve got four or five combinations to pick from.” He shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. He looked beat – worse than he had when he showed up. “I told you I’m useless.”

  “You’re not useless.” I wasn’t sure if I felt sorry for him or annoyed by his self-pity, but either way I had the nagging feeling I owed him a thanks. He’d showed up and he’d tried. “How about a coffee?”

  He squinted at me suspiciously. “Are you hitting on me?”

  “I’m married to the sea. But I need a coffee and you look like you do too, so let’s grab one and go over the names you got. Then you can tell Mr. Cold I’m doing my best.”

  “It’s cool that you think my opinion matters to him.”

  “Honestly, I think more of you if it doesn’t.”

  We exchanged uneasy smiles. It wasn’t exactly a moment of bonding, but it would do.

  ESPRESSO EXPRESS WAS a chain coffee shop near the museum that sold bad coffee and good cake, which kept me going back there. Ezra and I hunkered down at a stained table in a dark corner, him with a black coffee and me with a huge slice of coffee and walnut cake, and we put a list of names together.

  “Suarez and Simmons are definitely the last names,” Ezra said, jotting them down on a scrap of paper we’d begged a waitress for. “Marino’s mind was crystal clear on that. Then we have Sophie, Sonia, Sunny, Jared, Jesse, and Chase.”

  I opened my phone’s Facebook app and started plugging in names. You never knew. I’d tracked down a vampire’s human servant once via his Instagram account.

  “We’ve got a Sophie Simmons, a Sophia Simmons, and a Jesse Suarez,” I reported a few minutes later. “All locals, and all young enough to be called ‘kids,’ I guess.”

  “Congrats. What now? You message them to ask if they want to talk about their trauma to a stranger?”

  “Sure. Why not? The worst-case scenario is that none of them talk to me, and I’m no worse off than I was this morning.”

&nbs
p; Ezra huffed. “This isn’t what I figured a dhampir bounty-hunter would do.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s not all glamor and action.” I fired off messages to each of the three kids, once again using the journalist angle. “What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know. More violence. More leather catsuits.”

  I shot him a dirty look and didn’t dignify that with an answer. “Where’s my stiletto, by the way?”

  “Probably still on the floor in the basement. I don’t know. Relax. It’s a knife, not a Fabergé egg.”

  “I need it back.”

  “To interrogate these kids?”

  “Never mind.” I wasn’t sure I had the energy for sustained time in Ezra’s company. I finished my cake and was about to stand when a thought occurred to me. “Hey – have you seen Kinley around?”

  “Why would I? That kid isn’t exactly in the inner circle.” He narrowed his eyes at me, and I felt a slight pressure on my forehead.

  Too late, I realized I didn’t have my kyanite on me. “Don’t,” I said.

  Ezra’s look turned sly and knowing. “You know Mr. Cold wants that kid strung up by the balls, right?” he said, drawing his finger slowly across his throat. “Doesn’t matter if you’ve made nice with him, he still tried to fuck up Mr. Cold’s plans.”

  My blood chilled. I leaned across the table, lowering my voice. “If anyone lays a hand on him, the deal is off. I don’t care how big and bad Mr. Cold thinks he is.”

  Ezra smirked. “You caught feelings for the little runt? What will your boyfriend think?”

  The world turned blood red. There was a roaring in my ears that warned me I was on the precipice of doing something very violent and very stupid. But it was like Ezra had reached in and jabbed my heart, and my body wanted to attack back.

  I felt my fangs drop, and only the greatest exertion of will power stopped me slamming my fist in his face. Every muscle in my body ached with the effort. I ran my tongue over the cruel tips of my fangs, wondering what Ezra’s blood tasted like.